Odds In Your Favor: Part I
by bowtruckle90
Summary: Zhoa Hugg becomes a tribute in the 71st Annual Hunger Games. While she always knew this was where she was being groomed to end up, she hadn't counted on the kinds of people she would meet or the things she would learn about herself in the preparation. Sequel to "Zhoa Hugg". Please read this in advance. I do not own The Hunger Games. Rated M for later installments.


REAPING

Zhoa looked at herself in her mirror. It was cracked and dusty, but she could see well enough. Her burgundy hair was pulled back as well as it could be, and her dress was a clean cut black. She looked as though she were going to a funeral. In a way, she was.

There was a knock on her door. Zhoa turned around and smiled, seeing Millie's dark hair and freckled face smiling wryly back at her. The fifteen year old entered and held a brush out to Zhoa. "I am just awful at this, could you?"

The girls sat on the bed in the corner laid out with a worn quilt. As Zhoa brushed out Millie's thick curls and separated the sections to braid, they younger girl talked with a tone of despair. "I don't know what we're going to do without you, Zhoa. I can't hunt."

"You can hunt," Zhoa countered in a soft, kind voice.

"Not like you. Nothing like you…maybe they won't call you. Maybe you could open your dad's old tinker stall again. I know it hasn't run since Mischa and Mero." She was quiet for a moment, as Zhoa tied off the braid. "Maybe they won't call you…"

Zhoa sighed heavily and rested her chin on Millie's shoulder. "They will. A hundred and twenty five entries. Even last year at 122, no dice. They've been waiting. It's rigged. You'll see." She stood then and brushed her dress back into place. "Besides you and your mom, no one here will miss me."

Millie looked up at her helplessly. Her eye were glossy with tears. Zhoa extended her hand for Millie to talk and stand, which she did. In handing back the brush, Zhoa rested her hand over Millie's saying, "You'll set the traps, work on shooting for large game, and never take tesserae for you and your mom. You only have three years; it's not much longer."

Another knock at the door; the calling siren started blaring outside as Magda, Millie's mother walked in. She smiled, saying, "You girls look beautiful." She stepped in to hug them both, one in each arm. When they parted, Magda took both Zhoa's hands in her own. "We're indebted to you. You didn't need to do so much."

"You husband died for me, Magda, I could never do enough."

Magda shook her head, mane of dark hair bouncing around her shoulders. "Joseph did what he could for a friend, we knew what could happen. There's nothing to atone for." The siren continued as Madga pulled Zhoa into another hug.

They parted and Magda was wiping away small tears. "Go on, you're going to be late."

"Don't come say goodbye. It'll be that much harder if you do."

Magda nodded before following Zhoa and Millie down the stairs and watching the girls leave hand in hand out her front door.

The walk wasn't long and suddenly Zhoa and Millie were in a sea of young people. It wasn't hard to miss that the masses were parting like the Red Sea to let Zhoa through, complete with dagger-like stares. After the registration lines, none too few stooped to purposefully shoving her and throwing a few pebbles. One hit Millie instead. Zhoa turned to her, "Go stand in the back." Millie obeyed and Zhoa stood alone, eyes front, waiting for the inevitable.

The glares didn't stop until the pretty in flaming magenta and freshly coiffed Effie Trinket slimbed the stage and made her speech. Zhoa zoned out. Had she set the traps? Hid the bow and quiver? Stocked the kitchen as bets she could? Nothing she could think of had been left to chance as much as she could help it.

"Zhoa Hugg!"

Usually there was dead silence when someone's name was called. On this occasion, there was applause. Which caused a rather wide grin on Effie's painted face that only grew wider as Zhoa approached surrounded by peacekeepers.

"And now the boys!"

The applause for the male tribute was non-existent. Koda Milio. He was her age, eighteen. Burly, with dark hair down to his chin and dark eyes that glared at her as they shook hands before being led inside to receive their visitors.

In her room, alone, Zhoa thought about the fact that she was right. People get called for as little as one entry and Zhoa had seen as much as fifty two entries get called. But a hundred and twenty five, and on her last year her name comes up. It was fixed, it had to be. And since she was headed for the slaughter anyway, there was no reason she could not now shout out the truth to the world, anyone who would listen.

Mischa's voice was in her head. 'You can do this,' it said to her. 'You can win. You have to.'

THE MENTOR

The fact of the matter was, Zhoa didn't have to win the games. No one from District 12 ever wanted to see her again, she had no real family left, since Magda and Millie were not really her aunt and cousin (not that the peacekeepers knew that. They needed food and Zhoa didn't want Millie taking extra entries.) All Zhoa had was a miserable life. Not that she was looking to end it, but it's not like anyone was really counting on her to come home. In fact if she did, someone would find a way to kill her before she was able to leave again.

Then again, as they careened toward the Capitol at 200 miles and hours on the train, someone might just kill her before training was even done.

"I'm glad my name was called," Koda said. It was the first time he had spoken since they made themselves comfortable for the journey. Zhoa was in a chair near the coffee table, he was sitting a ways away near the small square dining table, twirling a knife on its point into the polished wood. Zhoa swiveled her head and stared at Koda through her eyebrows.

"I'm glad," he repeated. "I probably won't win this thing, but it gives me a chance to kill you. Mero was my friend. And you're going to pay for what you did."

Zhoa turned her head away to stare out the window. There was no point in arguing with this kid. If he had been Mero's friend, no account of events would convince him that there had been nothing she could have done. And so they rode in silence, Koda staring menacingly and Zhoa not paying attention.

After a while, Zhoa got tired of waiting. She got up and left the cabin without a word. They were supposed to have their mentor by now, where the hell was he? She wound her way through the various corridors and cars and almost passed yet another room when she noticed that there was something, for lack of a better word, crouching in the walkway beyond the next car connection.

Knitting her brows together, Zhoa slammed the button and rushed through the connection into the next corridor. There was a middle aged man, or at least he looked it, slumped against the train car wall. "Fuck…" Zhoa swore to herself. She stepped up to him and bent down to his eye level. Though she assumed he was seeing double, she stuck out her hand to him, "Zhoa Hugg, District 12."

He took it and once she had his hand in her grip, Zhoa hauled him to his feet, slinging one arm over her shoulder and grabbing around his waist. His shirt was awkwardly buttoned and his tie was askew, but Zhoa was pretty sure this was their mentor, Haymitch Abernathy.

At the end of the corridor there was a sleeping cabin. Not knowing if it was his or not, and not really caring either way, Zhoa walked him in and deposited him on the large bed inside. After turning him on his side and making sure he couldn't turn to his back by stuffing pillows behind him, Zhoa made herself comfortable in the armchair nearby and decided to wait. What for she had no idea. Morning? For him to wake up after sleeping off his drink? Who knew. But she's rather be in here taking care of a drunk, than out there worrying about Koda and his slowly rotating knife.

Zhoa wasn't sure when she woke up, but she did know how: someone was shaking her. When she blinked her eyes open and looked up it was a considerably more put together and coherent Haymitch. After she was awake, he held out a hand to her. "Haymitch Abernathy."

Zhoa took it. He pulled her up, adding, "Zhoa Hugg, I remember. Sort of." He didn't express his thanks, but the tone he said this in sounded something like an apology, and everything Zhoa had heard about him told her that was more than she should have expected.

"That was a ballsy move, helping me," Haymitch said, laying an arm over her shoulder as they walked toward the door, presumable for breakfast. "I hope you don't make a habit of helping everyone in need."

"Only the ones who can help me win this thing."

Haymich said nothing to this for a long time, but when they reached the car in which Zhoa had left Koda the night before, he opened the door, saying, "You're a smart one. That'll go a long way."

CINNA

Zhoa was in hell. She had been brushed and waxes and poked and prodded and pinched and now she was able to pass for what the Capitol would consider pretty as she waited for Cinna, the man who was supposed to be responsible for making Zhoa somehow desirable. She wished she could tell him not to bother.

But he came into Zhoa's holding room smiling. His skin was dark but his smile was bright. "Girl, I hope you know I'm gonna be working that gorgeous hair of yours." Zhoa turned her head from where she was laying on the table. "You can sit up," Cinna added. "I don't bite."

They shook hands. "That reaping, Miss Hugg, I never saw anyone applaud for a tribute from your district before."

"People don't like me. I…I did something to try and save someone a long time ago. I ended up losing two people. It was kind of an accident, but I got blamed for it."

Cinna listened, nodding politely. "You're the tribute with, like, a hundred entries right?"

"You know about that?" Cinna raised his eyebrows and reached out to play with Zhoa's hair. "One twenty five," Zhoa sighed.

"Damn girl. Whatever you did, it's gonna be hard to get people to be rooting for you. Just guessing."

"Then don't try."

Cinna stepped back, hands on hips and cocking one eyebrow. "Girl, this is my first year as a stylist. I have to put up or shut up, and I have something special in mind for you and your red hair, and your amazing green eyes. People may not like you, but they sure are going to remember you. I'm going to use your bad girl status from your district and make you into something hot. Someone ungettable. And ungettable is very attractive. We'll get your some sponsors, girl. Leave it to me."

Cinna helped her off the table so she could stand and turn for him. As she did this, Zhoa asked, "I thought sponsors were impressed by ability, not looks."

"They're impressed by whoever has the best chance. If we can sell you as a girl who doesn't need help from anyone, you become a safe bet. However…a little sex appeal couldn't hurt."

Zhoa stopped turned and stared at Cinna. "So how do we do that?"

THE CHARIOTS

Cinna had spent the better part of the afternoon further primping Zhoa for the Chariot Parade. He had curled her hair making it wild and ferocious, glued extra eyelashes to her lids, made up her face with green eye makeup to make her eyes pop, and was now standing beside the chariot with her painting her lips a deep sanguine red.

"We've got to make these big lips of your luscious. Make every man in those stands want to kiss them."

"And that accomplishes what?" Zhoa asked.

"Don't talk and let me finish this."

Zhoa fell silent and her eyes skated the room. Koda was about ten feet away having his own costume adjusted by his stylist, whose name Zhoa didn't know. Everyone else had one something bright and colorful, but being from a coal mining district apparently brought stylistic challenges. Zhoa was dressed in this black fabric with a metallic sheen on it. The outfit was more like armor than an outfit, fitting tight and looking like a very high class jumpsuit with cut outs showing off her oblique here and her shoulders there. Cinna said her muscle tone was something that would assist in this bad girl persona they were creating, and Haymitch must have agreed because as he stepped in front of her line of vision he put up a thumb with a smile.

"Well aren't you just a pistol. You were right Cinna, gunmetal suits her."

Cinna stepped back and capped his lipstick. "Yeah, go figure. Makes the hair stand out more. Speaking of, you've got a stray curl…" He rushed to fix it while Zhoa talked with Haymitch. "I keep thinking Koda's going to just strangle me the moment he gets a chance."

Haymitch shook his head. "He can't do anything before the games start; he'd be locked up for breaking the rules or worse. He'll keep his distance. Why is it he has such a problem with you anyway?"

"It's not really his problem, it's a district problem. My whole district hates me." She turned her head to look toward Districts 2 and 4. The ones from 4 were dressed in pearly white material that flowed about them like sea foam. The general idea, she guessed. The boy, probably her age, tall with broad shoulders and sandy blonde hair looked her way. And he stared. There was nothing in his eyes like there was hen Koda stared at her. He wasn't glaring, or trying to intimidate her. If anything he was thinking. He was analyzing her. It took a moment to realize that Haymitch was speaking to her as Cinna stopped fixing her hair.

"From what I know about you, you're the tribute with nothing left to lose. Because you have nothing you're not going to have to play a careful game. That makes you ruthless and it makes your dangerous. It means people will sponsor you. But you have to help this image. Don't smile. If you do, make it a smirk. You're cold and you're calculating. You're a warrior. And you stand alone."

Zhoa nodded and after one last spin for Cinna she mounted the chariot with Koda, who made it clear he would be standing in the center of the vehicle.

Zhoa had no idea if she was supposed to be like this with her own District's tribute, but all the same as she climbed up Zhoa cleared her throat. "You're in my spot, Koda."

He didn't answer. The horn blew. She had to do something to make sure she would be seen. Every other tribute was smiling, happily standing side by side and some other girls were even practicing waving. The chariots up front began to move.

"Koda move."

Still nothing. Maybe it was all the talk about who she was supposed to be or maybe she was just mad, but Zhoa stepped up behind him and with her right fist in her left hand, jammed her elbow into his side. Koda grunted and moaned, and staggered to the side rail to hold it for support. With that Zhoa stepped to her place just as the chariot began to fall in line. Koda manage to get back to standing upright by the time they were in the gangway, but he continued to rub his ribs, not waving in greeting like the others. Zhoa on the other hand made eye contact with every man she saw…and smirked.

TRAINING

The jumpsuit made Zhoa look athletic. While she was letting Cinna tie her hair back, Haymitch popped into her room in the District 12 suite. "Well," he said, depositing himself roughly in an armchair in the corner. "Koda certainly isn't going to be any ally of yours."

"What I've been saying," Zhoa responded. "He's going to be worse to deal with than anyone else."

Haymitch took a swig from his flask and tucked it back in his coat made of blue velvet. "Did you really kill two brothers for the peacekeepers in your area?"

Cinna didn't hesitate in his styling duties, but the tension was palpable. Zhoa gently pushed his hands away and stared at Haymitch's eyes in her vanity mirror. Cinna sat on the second stool beside her and listened as she spoke:

"The peacekeepers approached me and a friend. Mischa. His brother Mero had been missing for a few days. Turned out he was preparing to try and gather a war party to fight against the peacekeepers to avenge the death of their father. A water treatment plant burned out and was never repaired. People were dying if dysentery. Me and Mischa went looking under the threat of death to find Mero and turn him in, only when we found him he wasn't the same person anymore. He shot his Mischa with an arrow and I shot Mero in defense. Both boys died. And I got another fifty entries in the jar that year for not bringing Mero in alive and losing Mischa as well."

Haymitch knitted his brow; he was thinking. "Fifty…and then you had tesserae for your fake aunt and cousin and yourself…that's only 175 entries. What about the other fifty?"

"For not turning my mother in when she tried to smuggle me out of Panem when I turned twelve."

Hatmitch's only response was, "Is that so…"

Cinna finished Zhoa's hair and Haymitch brought her and Koda to the training center, but not before adding a few quiet words to Zhoa while they waited for Koda to finish getting ready.

"If I were you, I would let your image do most of the work. I know you can shoot, but they don't need to know your strength. The compulsory exercises, make sure you do well; to put the others off. Spend most of your time watching the others, know their probable game plans. If you're bored, feel like you need to make a show of something, waste your time with the camouflage. Something that allows you to watch and observe your opponents. Stay away from the snares station, that's another thing to keep under wraps. The only people we want to know your talents until the bloodbath are the game makers and the sponsors. And don't form an alliance, whatever you do. You're stronger and more alert if you're alone."

That said, once the briefing was over, Zhoa made for the bleachers and sat down. The careers, naturally, started with the throwing knives, the swords, the spears. No one had touched the bow and arrows yet, but that meant nothing. Four days was a long times. The younger contestants (the tributes from 9, the boy from 3 and the girl from 5 all looked about twelve or thirteen years old) worked at the less aggressive stations. Camouflage, snares, things like that.

But Zhoa just sat and watched. She spoke to no one, but watched everyone, making sure to slump in her seat, splaying out in a comfortable position and play with her hair. Most simply glanced from time to time and whispered about her. Others ignored her completely. And one had a tendency to stare right back. The boy from District 4.

When the day was over, everyone filed out, some silent some talking with their targeted alliances, and Zhoa hung back watching ever one before starting to depart herself. She had missed that the boy had stayed behind though. From behind her he spoke. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

The surprise made her nerves jump, but Zhoa set her face and started walking. "I'm working a strategy same as you."

She thought that would be the end, but he caught up to her and continued. "Does that strategy involve you not working on anything at all? Don't get me wrong, I know you're a total badass where you're from, but you might not want to underestimate anyone around here. Aside from the four really little ones and Lida from 2, we're all sixteen and up here."

Zhoa tried her hand at what she hoped was a sinister laugh and said over her shoulder. "I'm hoping it's everyone else who will underestimate me." With this she walked faster and charged toward the exit, leaving him behind.

"I don't know what he's after offering advice," Zhoa told Haymich while they were alone in her room that night. "What do you know about him?"

"District 4, that's Dorian. He's eighteen, from the more southern parts of the district, had a mother, father and sisters but they all died in a boating accident last year. Just like you, he's got nothing to lose. Unlike you, he's a teddy bear." Haymitch sighed. "He has a point. I don't happen to agree, but he does have a point."

"Should I be listening to him or should I just knock his lights out net time he tries?"

"Whoa, hey," Haymitch laughed, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Don't be so hasty. I think this image is going to your head." He stood from the corner chair and waked to the door. "I think if he talks again, you should listen. If nothing else it might give you some information."

Sure enough, as Zhoa sat and watched the training again, only getting up for the compulsory exercises, Dorian from 4 sat down near her halfway through the day. He wasn't close enough to touch her, but close enough to have a private conversation.

"So you're just going to sit here. Watching all of us. You must be really good or really, really stupid."

"You'll have to wait until the scores to come up to find out," came her cool response.

Dorian shrugged in the corner of Zhoa's eye. "It's cool. I think you might need some help though. Even if you score high you'll have a target on your back." Zhoa turned her head, against her better judgment, to look at Dorian. "They'll band together and hunt you down. There's power in numbers."

"Well there's safety in solitude."

"There might be power in numbers until your mates turn on you, and there might be safety in solitude until you run out of ideas. You ever think maybe there's power and safety in a partnership?"

"Are you offering?"

Theta, the girl from District 4 was casting a venomous look in their direction. Dorian stood and picked up the spear he had laid out nearby. "Think about it."

Zhoa did think about it. She was awake all night thinking. If she trusted this boy, it might be a mistake. He'd kill her in her sleep. Then again if she didn't she might be throwing away a huge opportunity. She eventually decided while staring at the Capitol skyline out her window that she needed to know more about this boy before making any decisions.

Day three dawned and instead of having to wait for him to come to her Dorian was sitting calmly at the bleachers himself. Zhoa climbed a few seats above him and sat down, feet on the bleacher in front of her, elbows resting on her knees. "So what's your story?"

"My family's gone, like yours. I've got nothing to lose like you. But I'm not a hunter. You are."

"And what happens if we make it to the end? What happens when one of us needs to kill the other?"

"You'll make it out alive. If we're the last two standing…you'll make it out alive."

Zhoa fell silent. He was offering to kill himself in the end. "There's got to be something. I've got some friends back there still, not that things will go well for them if I live through this. I'm unpopular where I come from. You must have someone."

"Theta over there," he nodded toward the blonde haired nymph-like girl who was tossing knives at the throwing station and talking to Koda, seemingly friendly. "She doesn't love me anymore. I stopped training back at home; why everyone thinks I'm a coward now. Truth is it was because of her. She was being a royal bitch about us volunteering this year. She started going on about making sure it was her who got to rip my throat out. She said 'wouldn't you rather it be me than someone else?' She's insane."

Zhoa tried not to let her jaw drop even though she knew Dorian couldn't see it. Theta was Dorian's girlfriend. Or had been. By the looks of it now, she was getting cozy with Koda. Probably because they had both noticed Zhoa and Dorian getting chummy. They were assuming there was an alliance there already and Theta was manipulating Koda into an alliance of their own. They were going to go after Dorian and Zhoa.

Theta threw another three knives. Her aim was perfect. "Well," Zhoa sighed. "Insane and deadly are a nasty combination. Koda's got the same kind of rage for me."

"What happened?"

Zhoa told her story again, the same as she had the other morning to Cinna and Haymitch. When she was finished Dorian said nothing for a minute. After his silence, Dorian nodded to himself. "You and I are a lot alike. We've both got next to nothing to lose and tributes out here who would like nothing more than to see us dead regardless of the end game. You scare the crap out of people and I am more ruthless for I look. And with the two of them planning on hunting us down I can only imagine what it would be like trying to work this playing field solo."

"Are you offering an alliance?"

"Are you accepting?"

Zhoa stood up. She stretched and she walked toward the training room floor. "I'll let you know tomorrow. Watch the interview." With that, Zhoa made her way to the obstacle course and started climbing. For the rest of the day she hung out in the rafters, keeping anyone else from speaking with her. She needed to think. That couldn't happen with Dorian down her throat and Theta and Koda glaring in her direction. Honestly she had no idea how she would work answer into an interview that she couldn't prepare for, but she would figure it out somehow.

SCORES

Going last sucked. And Zhoa said as much. "Yeah," Haymitch said. "But if you can grab their attention, they'll be sure to remember you when they're scoring." Zhoa was hugging herself against the general chill of the training center before Haymitch led them into the hallway where they would wait to be called. Koda stood back from her, arms crossed but not for cold. He was trying to be imposing. They hadn't spoken a word since they first got on the train. Frankly, Zhoa was done with the intimidation tactics.

"Make sure you use the bow and arrows. They haven't seen anything from you yet and they're not expecting much. It might be hard to get their attention, but when you do you want them to watch you walk out of there thinking they were dead wrong about you."

Koda sniffed, but still said nothing. Haymitch turned to the boy and said, "You'll want to display your skills with the knives, but if you choose that road, make sure you're accuracy is perfect. That girl from 4 is the best I've ever seen, and considering how long it's been since someone from District 12 won…I've seen a lot."

With that Koda and Zhoa were escorted in and sat down at the end of the long benches. They watched every other tribute go in and come out. Some looked pleased with themselves. Others looked nervous. Zhoa caught herself staring at the door while Dorian was inside. Wondering what he was showing them. She knew he would be using his spear but had no idea exactly how he would demonstrate his skill. Request for a sparring partner maybe?

When the door opened, Zhoa perked up a little. Dorian's face was pleased. He wore an assured, confident smile and stared down several other tributes as he walked by. As he approached Zhoa dropped her head and avoided his eye. But Dorian stopped in front of her and when a casually slumped Zhoa lifted her eye to his, he said, "You better impress 12. I'm keeping my eye on you."

His tone was strange. It wasn't a threat, but it wasn't a pep talk or a dare either. Whatever the meaning was, it was lost on Zhoa who sat contemplating Dorian's words until her name was finally called.

When Zhoa walked in, the training room was set up like it normally was every morning. Everything in its place. There was a target on the far end of the room for knives and arrows. There were several knives already in it. Many in the center of the bulls-eye at the head. Others in the heart.

She had to give Cinna credit: he was right about her image. This whole mysterious and dangerous type was clearly working for her. As she approached, the sponsors and game makers fell silent. All eyes were on her. She walked up to the bow and arrow station. "Zhoa Hugg, District 12," she announced as casually as her slightly wavering voice would let her. She lifted the bow and an arrow. But before nocking it, she called up to the spectator box, "Is someone going to change the target?"

"My dear girl, if we did that for every tribute we would be here all night." Some of the company around the speaking chuckled or simply sipped their beverages with a snooty grin.

Zhoa dug her bow into the floor and leaned and elbow on it. "And you are…?"

"Seneca Crane. Your head gamemaker, of course." He flashed her a toothy grin.

"Well, Mr. Crane," Zhoa said, smiling in a mocking way toward Crane, "how am I supposed to display my accuracy if everyone else's accuracy in is my way?"

"By being ever more accurate."

It was hard to argue with. In fact, Zhoa would just as soon have said nothing, but this little bit of banter was giving her time to weight her instruments; get a feel of how she would need to aim. As they were made of aluminum, there was hardly any weight to them. Normally she would have aimed a little above her intended target with her bow at home to allow for weight to drag it down in flight, but this model was so streamlined, the only way she would get a true shot was to truly aim. Something Zhoa wasn't used to.

But at his comment she shrugged and set herself in the proper position. She nocked her arrow and let out her breath before taking careful aim and shooting. The arrow landed as squarely as possible to the center in between the knives that were blocking her target. It was a very good shot. But Crane in the sky box appeared to be unimpressed. He was speaking with a man.

"Tell me Mr. Crane, how long have you been the head gamemaker?" Zhoa was casually selecting another arrow. Crane turned his attention back to her. He liked the banter. Like most other men Cinna had predicted, he liked her bad girl attitude and her pretty face.

"Do you think this impromptu conversation is going to earn you points? If anything my dear you're hurting yourself."

Zhoa took aim again. This time for the heart. "I'm not concerned. Wither I score high or low…" she let loose. Again, as perfect a shot as could be made. "…it doesn't change the fact that I am very dangerous."

She selected another arrow, listening to Crane's answer without much more than a cool glance. "I would think you would have realized by now Miss Hugg that points translates into sponsors with then translates into help when you need it."

Zhoa had three arrows left. Holding the bow in her left hand, she grasped each one and set it between a finger very slowly, setting up for one of her tricks. Something she had not done in some time. She hoped this would be enough to impress…if it came off right. With one arrow between each space between fingers, Zhoa raised her bow once more. She took longer to aim, adjusting her fingers slightly up or down, almost unnoticeably. This had to be perfect…

An exhale, and she let go. In viewing her shot, Zhoa could have been more pleased with her accuracy, but each arrow was in the twenty percent area: one in the head, one in the heart. But the third landed in the groin. That particular area had no obstructions and was the lone centered arrow of the bunch. Setting the bow on one end again and resting her forearm over it, crossing one foot over the other, Zhoa looked back up to the skybox where Crane's mouth was hanging open.

"And I would hope you would have realized by now that I don't really need the help." She turned back to glance at the empty station. When she looked back she thumbed at it over her shoulder. "Looks like I'm out of arrows. Does that mean we're done here?"

"You're dismissed," Crane said with a little less zeal, and with a little more tremor than before.

Later that evening, Haymitch and Zhoa found themselves rolling on the floor laughing over her account of the display. "And he was white in the face, wasn't he?!"

"Completely! I thought he was going to kick me out or something but then I shot the three and he just went white!"

Effie was sitting on the couch sulking. "Honestly the rudeness was uncalled for. You're going to score worse than anyone. Not to mention the poor reflection on the rest of us."

Haymitch sat up for a second, wiping a tear from his eye, "Effie, I don't think you realize the difficulty of what she just did. I would have shit myself too if I had seen it! The shock value was priceless!"

But Cinna hushed Haymitch as the scores started coming on. Haymitch slipped his flask from out of his jacket and handed it over to Zhoa, who accepted and took a swig from it. Scotch. It burned going down but it calmed her nerves a little.

"Honestly…" Effie huffed, fanning herself with a silk fan that had been sitting in her pink silk wrapped lap.

The scores seemed to go by slowly. Every other tribute was going to be before her just about. All but Koda. She watched them go by in a slight haze. The numbers could tell you quite a lot or very little. It told you who was likely to die early on, who would be a danger if you went at them without a plan, but then Zhoa already knew these things from watching everyone else for four days. When District 4 came up, she listened intently. Dorian had scored a 10. Very impressive. Very deadly. Apparently he was more ruthless than he appeared, just as he had claimed to be. His skills had been considerable with the spear over the past few days. Now Zhoa was thinking he was downplaying his hand. Theta on the other hand had scored an 8. Still very good, but she had looked a little disappointed coming out that afternoon. Chances were it wasn't her best performance. But it also said she had a tough time calming herself when it mattered most. She could be rattled.

More numbers went by, more faces flashed across the television screen. And then the moment of truth. "Zhoa Hugg, District 12," boomed the perpetually bubbly and irritating voice of the games announcer, a man by the name of Caesar Flickerman according to Haymitch. "11!"

Effie started screaming, well more like squealing, in delight. But before anyone could get too carried away they had to wait for Koda's scores. "Koda Milio, District 12…6!"

Koda had not scored very well. That wasn't unexpected. He was hanging out with Theta and letting her teach him about the knives, but he would never be as good as she was. Zhoa figured he was only planning on killing her and then no idea what would happen next. Koda had said so himself: he didn't care if he won. Was even sure he wouldn't. He just wanted his shot at her. Just like everyone else.

INTERVIEW

Zhoa looked at herself in the mirror again. Her hair was allowed to sit wild about her face, curls going in all directions. She sincerely hoped if she won this thing Cinna could tame it back to normal again.

Her dress Cinna had chosen for this even was a true stunner. It was made of a similar material as her chariot outfit. The skirt was higher in the front, but down to the ground by the time it reached the back, showing off her legs and the fabulous gunmetal shoes he had chosen for her, some six instead high with a platform in the ball for an extra inch or so. Hard to walk in but fabulous all the same. The bodice was simple but held up by polished metal chains as straps. The back was open and the chaining continued in five slackened loops draped from one side of the open back to the other. Her face was covered in smoky colored makeup and harsh looking metal adornments around her eyes, which peered back at her sitting over her by now quite signature ruby red lips. Her false eyelashes were obscuring her vision a little.

Cinna stood by her side, finishing a touch he wanted to add. It hurt like hell, but he insisted he was almost done. Zhoa looked down on her left forearm at the tattoo of a crow sitting on it. This one was flying with his wings down. The one Cinna was just finishing and cauterizing for her had its wings spread wide. Cinna had offered to do them as temporary henna tattoos, but Zhoa had told him to go ahead with the real thing, still having doubts about her ability as they would be once she made it into the arena in the morning. Might as well have the experience before dying. Cinna had also put a bear paw print on her calf. Something to catch sight of when she crossed her legs sitting down. He was making her look like, in his words, a total badass.

"Three minutes isn't long so try and keep even the long answers as short as possible so that people can learn as much about you as they can. This is the time we want them to catch a glimpse of you. Still hardened but…honest. They want to know something about you so now's the time." Haymictch checked his watch before standing up. "I'll see you down there; I have to visit your homicidal counterpart." Before closing the door he stopped and said once more, "As short as possible."

When he was gone and Cinna was finished, there was an eerie calm that swept over Zhoa. These questions weren't prepared. She would be asked things on the spot. Somehow Haymitch's attitude about the whole thing made her feel like he knew what was going to be asked.

This thought process stayed with Zhoa through the corridors and into the hall backstage where all the tributes were coiffed and perfumed, waiting for their turns. All but the fourth district. Tributes started going on their interviews and they still hadn't showed.

The questions were featherheaded: were you prepared? What's it like at home? Do you like the Capitol? All the same five subjects of discussion. As she watched, drifting in an out of listening and wondering what stupid questions she would be asked, Zhoa became aware that someone had come up behind Koda who had been standing right behind her. She looked and it was Dorian and Theta. They both looked pissed at each other and stood as far as they could in the small space they were all standing in. A stage manager came out back and told them they would be going on last after 12, since Caesar was already on District 6.

Zhoa was tired. After a while all she wanted to do was sit. The gown was heavy and it weighed on her. The petticoats wouldn't have let her get back up if she had sat though. So she leaned against the wall and tried to imagine that she wasn't tired in the least.

Finally the same stage manager that had come back for the other 20 people came for her. She led Zhoa through a door and up a small flight of stairs that ended at the backstage. The boy from District 11 was just on his way off the other side as Caesar spoke out to the crowd. "And now, what promises to be the most enlightening interview of the night, she's mysterious, she's sexy, let's give it up for Zhoa Hugg!"

After a deep breath for her hammering heart, Zhoa picked up her skirt slightly and walked out.

The crowd was enormous, stretching further in the distance than could be seen from where she was. Caesar reached for her hand and helped her to sit delicately in the interview chair. Once the applause had died down, he said, "Well, Zhoa, we'll finally get a glimpse into you, the most mysterious tribute we've ever had in the games. And I have a very special set of questions for you."

Unsure what he meant, Zhoa slapped on her signature calculating grin and said lightly, "Fire away."

From a car Caesar read, "Now you had what I have heard is an amazing hundred and twenty five entries in the Reaping Jar this year. And I know we're all wondering how someone comes to have quite so many entries."

Was this was Haymitch had been alluding to? Zhoa was all too aware of her short time, so she just let her mouth answer without hesitating. Who cared if the truth came out? She might be dead in a day. "Well when I turned twelve my mother tried to smuggle me out of Panem on reaping day. She and a family friend got caught. I never saw them again. And as punishment for not turning them over to the peacekeepers I received fifty entries. After that I started taking tesserae for the friend's family saying they were my aunt and cousin."

"But they weren't."

"No. Not that anyone ever checked the facts. Their husband and father were gone because he tried to help my mother. I owed them whatever I could do for them."

"Well," Caesar said, "I know that's not the whole story. We're not even approaching the true number. There was something else wasn't there? Something to do with your riotous unpopularity in your own district I hear."

"Well a few years ago a friend's father died. His brother went off and started collecting weapons to try and start a riot against the peacekeepers who refused to repair the out of commission water treatment plant that caused a rash of dysentery in my area of the district which took the father's life. I was supposed to take my friend and find his brother and bring him back alive. We found him and he was so paranoid he shot my friend and I was forced to kill him in self-defense. As punishment for losing both of them I received another fifty entries."

"My my, it sounds like you have crossed swords with the law of the land certainly."

"Yes I'm surprised I wasn't punished after my father was arrested for making weapons and hiding them in the woods. Then again he was arrested when I was eight so how would I have known to report him?"

"Still a hundred and twenty five, even before then it would seem your name would have to come up before your final year at the reaping."

"I think we all know it was more a coincidence that my name finally came up in my final year."

It was a dig, certainly. Caesar paused for shock before asking the next question: "So you truly are alone in this world. You parents gone, friends are gone. Your aunt and cousin are not truly your aunt and cousin. Sounds like you've done a lot of self-sacrificing in the past for the greater good. Why then does your district not stand behind you?"

"They were never allowed to hear the truth until now."

Caesar's ever widening smile faded a little. Apparently he wasn't in on the secret being secret. Whoever fed him these questions must have known though. And Zhoa thought she knew just who was to blame. But there would be time for that later. Caesar had one more question for her.

"Do you feel remorse for what happened to those boys, Zhoa? Do you wish things could have gone differently?"

"Of course," Zhoa answered immediately. Her eyes were stinging at the memory in the back of her mind. "My friend was actually more than a friend. I loved him and I watched him die in his arms. If I could change anything about my whole world…I just want them back. It's unfair that I'm here and they're not. I'd rather see them again than anyone in the world. And I'm going to try and win this for them."

"Of course," Caesar smiled and nodded. "If I may say, this little insight into your softer side has been a true delight. No longer the wholly mysterious girl from District 12, I give you Zhoa Hugg!"

Caesar offered his hand and helped Zhoa stand up to riotous applause littered with whistles and the occasional marriage proposal called out.

Once she was backstage again, the only person Zhoa wanted to talk to was Haymitch. And she found him, waiting for her in the hallway where the District 4 tributes were still waiting.

"What the hell just happened?" She wasn't accusing him, just trying to grasp why her fishing expedition had apparently been a little more deep sea than everyone else's.

"I sort of slipped the questions to him this afternoon. Guaranteed Caesar his rating would go through the roof is he asked them. Took a little cash but I guarantee you'll have more than enough sponsors now. Granted I won't utilize any of their funds unless you really need it, but you won't be out there without a line. I promise."

"But no one knew about all the things the servants of the Capitol in the district decreed. Son;t there be an uproar about it now?"

Haymitch nodded. "Maybe. That's why Effie ran up to the apartments before you were done in a fit. Thinks we'll all be executed now." He stepped close and lowered his voice. "Thing is, Caesar didn't ask anything no one isn't asking already." Haymitch pulled out a small digital tablet he had been holding, which was displaying various news headlines. And they were all asking the same questions and raising the same suspicions that had just been discussed on stage. "Someone must have tipped the papers."

Zhoa looked at Haymitch in shock before taking the device in her hands and watching headline after headline scroll down the page. "Your story makes people crazy," he continued, handing in his pockets. "I'm hoping there's no riot in twelve tonight. Frankly I'm banking on them all being as bitter as your friend out there, but you downplayed the peacekeepers' role perfectly. You didn't blame them, but you did plant the seed of mild anarchy in the heads of everyone watching and people always love a rebel. They trust them to get things done. And they love to help them."

"If you say so."

"I do. The hardass has actually been fighting for the rights of others for years. I just made you the most interesting tribute in history."

"You and Cinna," Zhoa corrected. "The image was his idea."

"Either way, we've done all we can. The rest is up to you."

Koda was coming back from his own interview now. As the trio walked by the remaining tribute from District 4 as Theta was now being interviewed, Zhoa hung back a little so that she would not miss Dorian speech. Haymich vo;unteered to stay while Koda's stylist took him back.

"So Dorian," Caesar chortled when the boy had made himself comfortable. "I think the first question on everyone's mind is why so late?"

"My ex-girlfriend decided to pick a fight. She blacked my eye a little so gave her a good shove. You know the usual."

"Ex-girlfriend," Caesar repeated. "You don't mean the lovely Theta."

"I sure do. And she's not so lovely when she gets homicidal."

"Well well, my dear boy I think things will be a little tense in that arena don't you?"

"No more tense than at home. At least this way she gets a shot at what she always wanted to do anyway: kill me."

His tone was coy and playful. He was a good actor, Zhoa had to give him that. They joked around for a while, keeping that same light and bubbly feeling throughout. When Dorian was dismissed and came back to the hall, Haymitch beckoned Zhoa to come. She did, but followed far enough behind to as not to

be overheard, not even by the mentor of his, who was talking amicably with the stage manager, as Dorian walked by in the opposite direction Zhoa was headed.

"Deal."

THE MORNING OF

"I'll never forget you," Cinna said, helping Zhoa into a very light mesh jacket. Dressing for the games was like eating a last meal. Cinna had tied Zhoa's curls back securely and dressed her in black. No make-up, no ridiculous lipstick. Zhoa thought she recognized the face in the mirror she was looking in for the first time in days. It was nice to see the real her one more time before…well, just before.

Cinna zipped her up and held his arms open. Zhoa stepped into them. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear. "For everything."

They parted and the countdown began, letting them know when the tubes would be launching. Zhoa turned and stepped inside. Strangely, she was feeling okay. Not exactly confident. But at peace. Had knowing she was going to be here someday, and knowing it for years, somehow prepared her? However it happened, she had a clear head and was thankful for that.

The countdown conituned, and Zhoa thought of all the last minute words Haymicth had spoken that morning. Water was the biggest things, clean water (as if she didn't know, given her personal history). Food can be found or killed; don't light fires at night; watch your step, literally; if the bow and quiver are too far inside the mouth of the cornucopia you're better off grabbing a pack with a knife in it and making one yourself; and always keep in mind that there's only one winner.

The tube was sucking her upwards.

When she emerged and the arena came into view, Zhoa found herself in the middle of a dense, humid forest. Something like the Amazon she had learned about in school. The light was dim from the dense canopy and the Cornucopia sat ahead of her, directly to her front. The clock was counting down. Zhoa saw the bow in the distance, but couldn't see any pack in her beeline for the dense forests in any direction. Just her luck. But if she ran fast and low…maybe she could reach it.

She looked for Dorian and found him some three spaces to her right. He caught her eye in between glancing at the surrounding tributes. Between them were two of the very young ones, and between them was Koda. Theta was some ways away, but Zhoa didn't think it would matter. Koda would try and tackle her and beat her with his bare hands seeing as he was so close. That was a problem, but not as big a problem as both her and Dorian's weapons of choice being toward the mouth of the cornucopia.

With only seconds to go, Koda began staring Zhoa down. But she only had one eye on him. She was really looking over his shoulder. She shifted her eyes toward the cornucopia. It was slight but he nodded. At least she thought it was a nod. He wanted her to go for the weapons. When her gaze moved once again toward Koda, Zhoa blinked very slowly. Dorian lifted his chin. If he was going to cover Koda for her, she could easily make a beeline for the weaponry. No telling who she would meet there but if she was fast enough she could grab a spear for Dorian and help protect herself until she got the bow and quiver. The spears were closer after all, if only by a few yards.

With ten seconds to go, Zhoa could only hope that the plan was good enough to keep them alive through the next ten minutes.

The horn blew. Let the games begin…


End file.
